When El gets in the Way
by KyMerch
Summary: Just a few slash drabbles. Stories I've started and left waiting to be finished.
1. Musing

_This was just Neal thinking about his life and where he would be if he had made different choices._

* * *

It's 4:35 in the morning and all Neal wants to do is sleep. However, sleep is playing hard to get tonight. He's laying in an empty bed, wide awake, cold, wishing Peter where there to keep him warm and talk to him until they both fell asleep. But that's not the way it works. No, Peter is with El tonight, not with Neal. He's at home keeping someone else warm, while Neal is across town, alone.

It's nights like these that hurt the most. It's these nights that he has to much time to think and remember. Or at least try to remember. He thinks about Kate. It's been a few years since her death and he's already forgetting what she smells like, taste like, feels like. And that's what gets the tears going, and then he'll never get to sleep.

He wonders what life would be like if she hadn't died. Wonders where he would be. Would he still be with the FBI? With Peter?

He doesn't know, and he doesn't want to know. He loved Kate with all his heart and soul and whatever else he could give her, but Peter, there was something different in the dynamic of their relationship. He didn't want to think about what path he would be on without him.


	2. Stay

_This was inspired by the song _Stay_ by_ Sugarland. _It was going to follow the verses. _

* * *

You know the feeling you get in the morning when you wake up thinking you can sleep longer, only to realize your alarm is about to go off? That's the feeling Neal Caffery got when he woke up and realized that the warm body next to him would soon be wrenched away, and he would be left alone in his bed to, possibly, cry himself back to sleep.

Peter grumbled in his sleep as Neal twisted to get a look at the digital clock on the bed side table. _1:07am. _

It's usually around this time that Elizabeth calls. Peter will answer his phone, trying hard to erase any hint of sleep from his voice, tell her that he'll be home soon, kiss Neal one last time and leave without another word.

"Please, don't go." Neal begged this time, catching his hand as Peter sat up to put on his discarded shirt. Peter raised their intertwined fingers to his mouth and kissed Neal's knuckles.

"I have to, you know that. El's waiting." He whispered. He sounded almost regretful. It gave Neal that false hope that maybe someday he'll stay.

_Maybe._

Neal pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and crossed the room to the couch where Peter sat putting on his shoes. He sat next to him and dropped his head into his hands. Peter saw a few tears hit his lover's knee as he silently stood and exited the apartment, leaving Neal alone as always.


	3. Confessions

_This was going to be one where Neal breaks things off with Peter, which compels Peter to come clean. El and Neal were supposed to have some long emotional talk and it was going to be an all around depressing story. However, I ran out of fuel early on and never finished. _

* * *

From somewhere in dreamland Neal heard his name being called. He fought his way through the haze of sleep and alcohol to find the person asking for his attention. He pried open his eyes, surprised to find the wrong Burke in front of him. Elizabeth was kneeling next to him, gently shaking his shoulder. Neal fumbled, trying to free his hands from the newly discovered blanket.

"It was much easier than dragging you inside." Elizabeth explained when his eyebrows smushed together in sleep riddled confusion. Neal looked at his watch, _12:54pm._

"What are you doing here so late?"

"We need to talk." El dropped her gaze, and he could she that she had been crying. She sat down next to him and scooted as close to him as she get. Neal flung part of the blanket over her.

"Neal, he told me everything." She told him, her voice impossibly small. Of course, he knew exactly what she meant but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. It was the whole reason that he was out here on the terrace sleeping off a bottle of wine. It was Neal. It was Peter. It was El's broken, no obliterated, heart. Neal cleared his throat and tried to look at her but his eye's wouldn't venture past her chin.

"I-I'm-" Neal started, not even sure what he was trying to say, guilt and alcohol erasing his ability to string together a coherent sentence. He swallowed around the lump in his throat with some difficulty and whispered, "I'm sorry, El." A pathetic apology at best. She shook her head silently.

"Sorry is not going to fix this."


End file.
